Once Upon Another Life
by becca85
Summary: Once upon another life, I would have passed Rose Red by.
1. Pam Asbury

**A/N: Once upon a time, I wrote a series of one-shots for the horror television show, **_**Harper's Island**_**. The one-shots were written to show each of the twenty-five "suspects" at some point prior to the start of the show, just living a normal day in their pre-wedding event lives. My goal was also to make mention of the upcoming wedding in some fashion in each one-shot. I liked how it came out and I've wanted to do it again. Enter Rose Red. I went with a friend to a couple of Shakespearean plays recently and there was an actor there who reminded me so much of Julian Sands that I decided I wanted to watch Rose Red. This has always been my favorite haunted house story and after watching it again, I decided I wanted to venture into Rose Red fanfiction and I wanted to start by writing a sequel series to my Harper's Island one-shots by doing the same for Rose Red. I tightened the timeline by limiting it to the day, or evening, before they arrive at the house. There's no rhyme or reason to the length of each chapter; I simply wrote what I felt compelled to, so some are short and some are longer.**

**DISCLAIMER: ****I do not own any of the characters or ideas created by Stephen King. I borrowed them for the entertainment and amusement of my audience.**

**SUMMARY: Once upon another life, I would have passed Rose Red by.**

**GENRE: Horror**

**RATING: PG-13**

**::~*~::**

Pam sat on the toilet seat in the bustling public restroom, trying to ignore the sounds of lively laughter from the gaggle of girls applying makeup at the mirrors. She silently cursed her friends for dragging her to the club in the first place. She should never have told them where she was spending the weekend. They immediately became convinced she was going to die there and so they insisted on her enjoying her last night of life. Apparently they didn't know her well enough to know that she despised the club scene. After they had left her alone at the bar while they hit the dance floor, she had gone to seek refuge in the bathroom, hoping to find comfort in the silence she had expected to find. After holing up in a stall, she hadn't been there for ten seconds before the rather loud group of girls had come prancing in. Rolling her eyes in irritation, she waited for them to leave.

Five minutes later, they finally returned to the dance floor and Pam was left in absolute silence. Burying her face in her hands, she groaned. Pulling her feet up onto the toilet seat, she wrapped her arms around her legs and sat her chin down on her knees.

She knew her friends had meant well and they had only been joking when they mentioned her imminent demise, but to have someone else vocalizing one of her deep-rooted fears about this whole excursion had only made things worse. Since they wouldn't drop it until she agreed to their plans for a night out, she had finally relented, despite having no desire to. She wondered if she should fake a headache just so she could bow out of the rest of the night. Of course, pretty soon she wouldn't have to fake anything.

Her biggest problem with large groups went all the way back to her special gift. She had the ability to glean information from objects simply by touching them. What most people didn't understand is that that gift sometimes extended to human beings as well. It didn't happen as frequently as her contact with inanimate objects, but the impressions, when they did come, were just as clear as what she saw when she touched objects, sometimes even more so. In the sixty seconds it had taken her to travel from the bar to the bathroom, she had determined that there were at least three guys and four girls presently cheating on significant others, two people were suicidal, and one guy was absolutely head over heels for the girl he was dancing with and, considering the way she had eyes only for him, she suspected his dance partner felt the same way about him. That last encounter tended to make her gift more bearable when, most of the time, all she saw was pain and anger.

Finally, she decided she'd had enough. Glancing at her watch, she was stunned to see it was already two in the morning. She was meeting the group at 9AM sharp, and she still had a thirty minute drive back to her apartment. She decided that she would just sneak out of the club and deal with the consequences of her abandonment of her friends in the morning, or, better yet, on Monday afternoon when she returned home.

She put her feet back on the ground and put her hands on the walls of the stall to push her to her feet. The impression that assaulted her senses was immediate and overwhelming…and truly terrifying. Bursting out of the stall in horror, she so startled a young woman applying lipstick that a long red mark stretched from the corner of her mouth, almost to her ear. Mumbling her apologies, Pam quickly quit the bathroom. The vision of the mutilated body of the young woman who had been murdered in that stall swam before her eyes as she hurried back into the main part of the club. Her breath coming in ragged gasps, she held her hand over her mouth as though she were about to be sick and practically ran to the exit. Suddenly, she wasn't so sure she could handle Rose Red.


	2. Victor Kandinsky

**A/N: This one is kind of short, but he was a difficult character to sketch. He died too soon and didn't have enough screen time while he was alive. I should probably point out here that my favorite characters, in order, are Nick, Sukeena, and Rachel, so they were much easier to write. On a completely unrelated note to this story, I actually found the book and the movie, "The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer," so now I can't wait to read and watch them. Maybe they will help me to write a prequel story set around the house's conception.**

**::~*~::**

Vic carefully closed the cover of the giant heirloom Bible in his lap. Setting it on the side table, he closed his eyes, his fingers pinched over the bridge of his nose as he fought the pain welling up in his head. He'd lost count of how many times he'd wished away his pre-cognitive abilities over the last year. In the end, it hadn't really amounted to anything.

It had been one year ago, almost to the day, since he'd lost her. Despite the rising pain in his head, he smiled at the decades of fond memories that his mind brought to the forefront. He was sixty-three years old and forty-one of those years had been spent in the sweet company of his dear companion, whom fate had claimed all too soon. As her illness had spread throughout her body, he'd been forced to watch her waste away, not once, but twice. In the beginning, as soon as she had been diagnosed, he'd focused his gift to see her future. By knowing what was coming, he felt he could change it. After countless attempts to change her fate, he'd been forced to surrender her to Death.

The last year had been the worst of his life. He'd suffered from heart problems for years while she had stayed healthy, and yet, the disease had come from nowhere and taken her away from him. His heart problems had remained and the breaking of his heart had only increased the pain he felt with each pang in his chest.

He knew the real reason he had accepted the doctor's offer. Strangely, he was okay with it. He also knew he'd only be trapped for a little while, before he would be free. The thought comforted him immensely. Life simply hadn't been worth living since she'd died.

Getting clumsily to his feet, his body having gotten used to sitting down, he picked up the thick sheaf of papers next to the Bible and read carefully through them one last time. Determining that everything was in order, he folded them and slipped them most reverently into the waiting envelope. Sealing it, he propped it up against the lamp on the table, quite sure that it was to be easily noticed by anyone who came looking.

Feeling the slight tremors in his body, his hand slipped into his pocket and he pulled out the tiny glass vial. Pulling it open and removing the cotton, he dumped the contents into his hand. Three pills left. Slipping two back into the vial, he dry swallowed the third. Two pills left. _That'll be enough._

Tomorrow, everything was going to be different. Leaning down, he turned off the light, masking the words on the outside of the envelope in the darkness: _In the event of my death…_


	3. Joyce Reardon

**A/N: Going full steam ahead with other Rose Red fanfic pieces, I've already written a sequel of sorts to this piece, with the timeline jumping forward one night. It's already finished, but I'll defer posting it until after I've finished posting all the chapters to this story. With chapter 3 going up right now, there are six chapters left, so, if you've found yourself enjoying this piece, look for "One Door Closes" to go up around October 11th.**

**::~*~::**

Joyce hung up the phone, quite unable to stop the grin spreading across her face. Rachel had accepted the offer. Annie was coming to Rose Red! If it was possible for her to be any more elated than she was at that moment, well, she didn't think that was even possible. Not even Miller's threats of revoking her tenure could dampen her spirits now. Once she came back with the undeniable truth she was looking for, there was no way he could stand against her. In fact, she wouldn't even need a university appointment anymore. Her reputation solid, she would be famous around the world, especially after she had written countless books about the experience.

Leaning back in her chair, she started envisioning the endless possibilities unfolding before her. Books, documentaries, maybe even a film about the thrilling phenomena she hoped to unravel in Rose Red. Invitations would flood in from around the world, begging her to come explore haunted buildings in every corner of the globe. She would assemble a top-notch team of psychics and mediums and everything in between. She almost laughed at the team she had presently assembled for the Rose Red excursion. They were jokes, but they were the best she could afford, primarily because of how desperate for money they were. She didn't know their particular needs, but they were all in need of some quick cash, and so they had agreed to participate, some more reluctant than others.

Using her connections in the psychic world, she had sought them all out. Spinning back to her desk, she pulled Annie's file towards her. Opening it up, she pulled out the news clipping. It was from ten years prior. _"Did Dog Bite Provoke Rain of Stones?"_ Joyce had read and reread it so many times that she could almost recite the entire article by heart. The second she had first laid eyes on it, she knew that Annie was her key to Rose Red. She knew it deep within her and she refused to rest until Annie was a part of her expedition. Unlike the others, Annie was no joke and Joyce considered herself incredibly lucky that Rachel was so naïve about Annie's psychic abilities that she had agreed to Rose Red for a mere twelve thousand dollars. Granted, Joyce had allotted five thousand for each participant and she was already struggling to figure out where she was going to get the extra seven thousand from, but she had Annie and that was what mattered most. If Rachel, or even her parents, had had any inkling whatsoever of the depth of Annie's power, they never would have let her come for so cheap. Joyce silently rejoiced at how often people turned blind eyes upon things they didn't understand, choosing not to research or investigate strange happenings. They found ignorance was bliss, even if it left more questions than answers in its wake.

Joyce grabbed her notebook out from under the folder and made another notation on it: _Blue Sapphire Necklace_. It was a list of things she would willingly sell to pay the debt to Annie. She was hoping she wouldn't have to sell anything, but if that's what it came down to. Rachel's agreement to the expedition had come so late in the day, with only hours to go before they left, that Joyce had been prepared to argue for deferment of payment until afterwards. However, Rachel had mentioned nothing about the money on the phone, only saying that they agreed to the terms, and Joyce had wisely decided not to bring it up. She would pay the full amount—she was good on her word for that—but if it wasn't on Rachel's mind, Joyce wasn't going to put it there.

The sound of the front door opening and closing in the hall alerted Joyce to Steve's arrival. She sighed. She liked him, she really did, but even she had to admit that she was only keeping him around now because of his connection to Rose Red. It was very probable that they would be going their separate ways once the expedition was completed, and Joyce honestly thought that would be for the best. She was starting to see how much he was holding her back. She would never be able to spread her wings and take flight, free to go as far and as high as she desired as long as she was with him. No, separating after Rose Red was going to be best. She suspected he already had an inkling of her current regard for him, so, hopefully, it wouldn't come as a revelation to him.

Standing up, she stretched her aching back before walking around the desk to the door. Long hours in her office chair here, preparing everything for the excursion, had left its mark on her body. She was about ready to flip the light off, when she turned back to her desk, grabbing Annie's file off of the top of it. The file always fascinated her and she wanted to read it once more before she had the opportunity to meet the child in question in the morning.


	4. Emery Waterman

**A/N: Have you ever watched a movie multiple times, but kept your eye on a different character through each viewing? When I get into a fanfiction frenzy, I tend to watch the media format on repeat until I wear the fandom down for myself. The winner, thus far, is Labyrinth with a play count of 122 on my iPod alone. Rose Red is climbing, though it's only at 23 plays. This doesn't count when I watch them on DVD. I've seen a lot of great facial expressions on our Rose Red cast and I've learned a lot about the characters individually as I've studied them. Anyways, I present to you...Emery.**

**::~*~::**

Emery couldn't believe he was toting a shopping bag full of stuffed animals around the house. His mother was walking in front of him, her arms full of even more stuffed animals. They were walking throughout the house as she dictated where each animal was to be reverently placed. She wasted no time in naming each one, and Emery glared daggers into each and every one as she put them down. _Very careful with the credit cards, eh?_ he thought. His mind returned to the rather large numbers typed so neatly on each credit card statement and he had to suppress a groan, lest his mother overhear.

Mrs. Waterman happily sat a large rhinoceros toy next to a giraffe on the edge of the guest bed. Emery tried to ignore how little of the bedspread he could actually see, with it being covered with every stuffed animal imaginable. He had thought it was bad enough when she had come home with a dozen shopping bags last week full of stuffed animals, of all things! Then she had gone back this morning! She had argued that the prices had been slashed to fifty percent off and she might have missed something the last time she was there.

Emery was convinced his mother had no clue about wise shopping. Their house was filled to bursting with trinkets that had no purpose, knickknacks that took up room on every available surface, and gadgets that just cluttered up every corner. In fact, his own room was the only room in the house that was clutter-free. The first time his mother had tried to put one of her many "finds" in his room (a blue stuffed unicorn), he'd drop-kicked it out the open door. She'd tried to put a few other stuffed pets in his room, but they all met similar fates. She must have hoped that something breakable might survive within the confines of his room, but when he kicked the snowman figurine out the door and it shattered against the wall, she never again attempted to bestow her gifts upon him. He had been quite pleased with himself, standing up to her like that. Unfortunately, she still controlled every other aspect of his life and he was slowly running out of patience. In the dark of the night, he'd often taken pleasure in fantasizing about her demise. But every day, when the sun came up, he found his dreams unrealized and he suffered under her overbearing nature, slinging insults from his mind to her stiff backside.

If Rose Red had a silver lining, even a barely discernible one, it was that he would be out from under her thumb for a few days. After he had finally relented to the terms of the expedition and there was no backing out, that silver lining was the only thing moving him forward. There were some days, though, when that wasn't even enough. Another silver lining was his ability to pay off one of her credit cards. Upon delivery of the money, he'd immediately done just that. He'd paid it off and canceled it before his mother could start using it again. That action alone had solidified his commitment to the expedition. He could no longer give the money back, so he had to at least show up and do what he was expected to do. "A deal's a deal," his mother often quoted. Now that he was mere hours away from that unhappy adventure, his mind seemed to be running wildly away from him. In the last week alone, he'd had more ghoulish encounters then he could properly count on all his fingers and toes. Often it was the same apparitions appearing again and again. He strongly suspected that they were connected to Rose Red, though they never spoke to him.

Mrs. Waterman tugged the bag out of his hand. "Emery, have you been listening to a word I've said?" She pulled a stuffed egg out of the bag and put it next to a stuffed chicken. _A stuffed egg?_ He couldn't decide who he wanted to murder first: the idiot who had actually created a stuffed egg and slapped a price tag on it, or his mother for actually buying it. Shaking his head in the negative, he realized his mother had continued talking again without even waiting for a response.

Deciding he was never going to get a word in edgewise if she kept talking, he interrupted her, "Mama, the Rose Red trip is tomorrow."

She stopped talking and looked at him. "There's nothing to worry about. I've already told you if you can't handle it, to call me and I'll pick you up. Now," she pulled out the last animal in the bag, "isn't this the most adorable penguin you've ever seen?"

Emery realized the conversation was over before it ever began. As long as he was alive and uninjured, his mother hardly paid any attention to his concerns, always talking over him and only paying attention to him when she needed something done. It was a moot point to mention that the house hadn't been open for over thirty years, so the probability of having working electricity, plumbing, or phone lines was very slim. He didn't know what preparations Joyce had made for the group, but he was planning for the worst. At the very least, the streets of modern Seattle went right up to the grounds of Rose Red, so if things got tough, he could just walk away.


	5. Cathy Kramer

**A/N: This one is kind of short, but I've got a surprise up my sleeve, so enjoy this one for now.**

**::~*~::**

Cathy sat quietly in a pew near the back of the chapel, her eyes fixed upon the face of the Son shining brightly from the stained glass window above her. She'd come here for refuge from the spiritual turmoil her life had lately become. The trip to Rose Red on the morrow had filled her with absolute dread. The only thing keeping her from backing out was her trust in God to keep her safe from harm.

She hadn't always been so religious and spiritual as she was now. You wouldn't know it by looking at her, but she'd raised quite a bit of hell in her youth. She remembered the sleepovers she'd had with her friends when she was a teenager and how she had always wowed them with her automatic writing. There had been countless hours spent communicating with spirits. They had all considered it great fun, until one "session" when Cathy had realized that they had only ever thought of it as an elaborate party game concocted by herself. She found out after they had done one of the routine sessions. She had gotten in contact with the deceased brother of one of the girls present. It was only after secrets emerged that were known only between the sister and brother and emotions had run high that Cathy found out that no one had believed it had ever been real. She had never voluntarily done another session after that night.

Cathy was brought back to the present by the sound of a throat being cleared. She looked around, only to find the priest appearing from one of the side corridors. He had come to her when she first arrived, seeing if she needed assistance. She had waved him off, saying only that she needed to be close to her Savior. He had looked interested at her response, but had given her the solitude she desired.

She didn't know when she had sought out religion, but she determined that the close presence of so many spirits in her life had instilled in her a desire to acquaint herself with her maker at some point. She'd even gone so far as to return to the community college and started taking theology classes.

The door opened at the back of the church and another lost soul entered, seeking some spiritual guidance for his own life perhaps. Cathy watched him settle into a seat much closer to the altar, wondering what weighty issues had brought him here this night. Determining it was none of her business, she returned to her own affairs. Weren't they all lost souls in some way, stumbling around the plains of mortality, seeking a purpose? What was her purpose? Why was she here? For the longest time she thought her purpose in life lay exclusively in her psychic talent, but she felt that there was so much for her beyond that. Maybe that was why she was going to Rose Red. Maybe Rose Red held the answer to her mortal life. She doubted it, but she felt that something was going to happen there, something that would help to define her.

Gathering up her purse, she stood and headed towards the exit. There was only so much preparation she could do in a church.


	6. Steve Rimbauer

**A/N: SURPRISE! A little tidbit about Rose Red: According to the book "The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer," Adam Rimbauer was born in the wee hours of the morning on September 9, 1909. Coincidentally, he shares a birthday with myself (albeit 70-some-odd years apart), so as my birthday gift to you, my readers, here is a bonus chapter. For those of you following the story, you know that I update every Friday, but I just wanted to give you this little surprise. The last chapter was short and this chapter is short as well, so I wanted to post it halfway between as a little gift. Enjoy!**

**::~*~::**

Steve strolled out of the rental office, the keys to the full-size van twirling around his index finger. As there was only one large ten-passenger van in the parking lot, it had to have been the one he just rented. He was a little suspicious about the whole rental process, but the vehicle looked to be in good condition, so he didn't feel like complaining. Pulling the driver's door open, he reached down for the hood lever. Opening the hood, he inspected the components underneath. Everything appeared to be in good order. At least, he didn't think they'd be getting stranded at the house, not because of the vehicle at any rate.

Sliding into the driver's seat, he put the van into gear and edged out into the flow of traffic. What had possessed him to open Rose Red up for the weekend? Every time groups entered the house, people always died or went missing, never to be seen again. However, the fact that the caretaker and his helpers had entered and exited the house without losing anyone when they had dropped the equipment off earlier in the week gave him some small hope. Despite Joyce's assertions that the house wasn't dead, merely dormant, Steve insisted on believing that it was. He'd detected nothing in his last visit to the house to make him believe it was still alive. It didn't make the ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach go away, but, then again, it was never going to go away until the house was destroyed.

He smiled to himself as he merged onto the freeway. A demolition date was set and he could now count down to the day when all of his problems would go down in a hail of broken wood and stone, leaving only a heap of rubble in its memory, before even that was hauled away.

Instinctively, his breath quickened almost uncontrollably and it wasn't until he had taken stock of his surroundings that he noticed Rose Red was rising up out of the distance on his right. He always forgot until he was almost upon it that the freeway passed right next to Rose Red. He tried to keep his eyes on the road, but every few seconds they would flick to the right involuntarily. It wasn't until he was past it that he let out the breath he hadn't even been aware he had been holding. The freeway was a major thoroughfare between one side of the city and the other. He'd been forced to pass this way many times before and the experience was always the same. Many of those times he'd also wondered if any of the other drivers on the road could feel the evil oozing from the house, poisoning the atmosphere. Or, maybe it was just him. Maybe the ties of blood that bound him so completely to the edifice of wood and stone affected only him. Somehow, though, this time was different. This time he deluded himself into thinking that the house knew he was coming. The last of the Rimbauers was finally going home.


	7. Annie Wheaton

**A/N: HAPPY FRIDAY THE 13TH! What better way to celebrate this superstitious day then by watching a movie about a haunted house out to get its visitors? Or you could just read this chapter and call it good. **

**::~*~::**

Annie lay on the floor of her bedroom, her coloring book in front of her. Her mother had bought it for her just a couple of days before, along with a brand new package of crayons. She had carefully turned the pages until she found a picture of a beautiful princess waving to her from the top of a stone tower. She smiled to herself as she colored the princess's hair a chestnut brown color, taking pauses every couple of minutes to pull a strand of her own hair from over her shoulder to admire its chestnut brown color in the fading sunlight. The sounds of her favorite song, "A Summer Place," drifted in the air above her.

"Annie."

Annie continued coloring, the sound of her music having drowned out the faint whisper of her name. She studied the picture intently, and then the box of crayons. She couldn't decide what color to make the princess's gown. She bit her lip in deep concentration.

"Annie."

The whisper still didn't reach her ears. She pulled out two crayons, a light shade of pink, and a dark purple, and considered each one. The song reached the end of its play and was prepared to start again on its endless cycle when the voice took advantage of the lull and spoke more insistently.

"Annie!"

She looked up sharply. A little girl in a navy blue and white sailor dress stood in front of Annie's closed closet. Her blonde hair was parted and pulled to each side and tied back with twin white bows. Annie noticed that one of her bare arms was different from the other. Annie looked down at her own arms and then back at the girl's. She held a doll in one arm and Annie immediately noticed it looked a lot like her own. She jumped up and grabbed "Baby" off of her bed and held her in her arm, mimicking the other girl's stance. They stood facing one another for several seconds, silence settling between them. In Annie's child-like mind, it never occurred to her to wonder where this girl had come from and what she was doing in her bedroom. The only thing that mattered to her was that there was a new playmate in her room. She promptly sat down on the floor and patted the empty space in front of her.

The girl took the invitation and sat down, gently placing the doll in her lap. "Draw me, Annie. I know you can."

Annie looked perplexed, studying the girl in front of her. She furrowed her brow in confusion. She wanted to give her name to this girl, but she already had it. Annie wasn't sure how she could find the name of her strange companion. She decided to point to herself. "Annie." Then she pointed to the girl and waited.

"April."

Annie grinned broadly, finally knowing the name of her new friend. "April," she said, as though testing out the sound with her voice. Still smiling, she flipped her book open to the blank inside cover, completely ignoring her half-finished princess page. As though in a dream, her fingers sought out the peach colored crayon and she started to draw her friend, looking up frequently to smile at her and to figure out the details. April kept herself busy by combing her doll's hair with her fingers and returning Annie's friendly smiles.

Thirty minutes later, Annie smacked her lips in obvious delight, as she drew her black crayon across the edge of the picture, finishing her masterpiece. She turned it around to show her friend. April's eyes lit up happily as she gazed upon the picture. "It's so pretty. Thank you, Annie!"

Annie positioned the book in her hands, prepared to rip the cover off so she could give April the finished picture, but April quickly shook her head and held out her one good hand to keep Annie from desecrating the book. "You keep it. Remember me."

Annie cocked her head to the side, as though thinking about the request, before she nodded her head once and closed the book. April gracefully got to her feet and Annie followed suit, wondering what her friend was doing.

"I have to go now," April said. "Will you come to my house and play with me tomorrow?"

Annie nodded her head excitedly, the realization that she had no idea where April lived, or even who she was, never entering her mind. Desiring to find something to give to April to remember her by, she looked around, finally settling upon a scarf lying on her dresser. Snatching it up, she turned to give it to April, but the other girl had vanished.

"April?" Annie spoke softly. She opened the closet door, but there were no girls hiding inside. She looked under the bed. While there were no girls hiding there either, she did find her long lost princess wand from a costume she'd worn many Halloweens ago. Confused, she pulled it out. Smiling, she waved it around her head, watching the glittering star on the end sparkle in the sunlight. Immediately recalling her unfinished picture, she dropped the wand on her bed and returned to her princess picture. Once again she pulled out two crayons. With a white crayon clutched in her left hand, she started coloring the princess's gown with the dark, navy blue crayon in her right hand.


	8. Nick Hardaway

**A/N: Nick is my favorite character, so he was the first one that I wrote. I was initially going to post his chapter as a one-shot all by itself, but I changed my mind and gave birth to the other one-shots that comprise this story. His is a little more lengthy, because of the direction I started the story in. I hope you enjoy it.**

**::~*~::**

Nick sat with his back against the rough exterior of the building. He was sitting on the wide wall top that separated his little balcony from the pull of gravity on the fourth floor of an old and decrepit building that should have been condemned decades ago, but was not only still standing, it still housed residents. He took a long pull on his cigarette and held it deep within his chest before exhaling, watching the smoke evaporate in the chilly air. He flicked the ashy end of the cigarette into the air before taking another drag. He really should quit. Smoking was such a nasty habit. He'd tried many times before, but he always found himself coming back again. It was one of the few things that could calm him—and if he was ever in need of calming, it was now.

Seeing that he was at the end of the cigarette, he snuffed out the butt on the ledge before dropping it into the overflowing ashtray. He didn't chain smoke by nature, but his mind was too occupied with the looming expedition that he wasn't thinking straight. Not for the first time that evening, he wondered if he'd made the right choice in agreeing to it. His hands absently sought out the cigarette pack, even though he knew he would find it empty. He leaned his head back against the stone wall and looked up at the stars. There had been a long string of spring storms that had hit Seattle day after day after day, but this night had been blessed with clear skies and dry weather, with only a hint of future storms upon the horizon. He stared at the stars, watching them twinkle in the black sky. A deep foreboding filled his chest and he wished fervently that, in a week's time, he would find himself in this exact spot, but, somehow, he knew he wouldn't be here.

He slid off the wall and firmly planted his feet back on solid ground, his trembling hands gripping the ledge as he sought to steady them. He wanted nothing more than to call Joyce up and tell her the deal was off; he'd happily return her money to her, if it only meant he could go about his life, blissfully content to never step foot on those grounds, but he knew he couldn't. He sighed, wiping a hand across his fevered brow. Despite the cold weather, he was sweating profusely.

There were pros and cons to reading minds, as he'd quickly found out. He'd had the ability for as long as he could remember, and it had taken years to hone it to a manageable level, where thoughts weren't entering his mind unbidden. Fresh out of university and the world ripe for the taking, he'd used his remarkable gift for gambling. At that point in his life, he thought he'd been blessed with a gift from the gods, and he had exploited it selfishly. He made sure to never win excessively so as to avoid undue attention, but he always went home a winner in some capacity. That had kept him fairly entertained for many years, but somewhere along the line he had grown a conscience and he realized how wrong this exploitation was. Unlike his smoking addiction, he'd gone cold turkey with gambling and had never looked back. It certainly helped that the very idea made him physically sick now.

After that, he had sought to help the local police precinct as a consultant and that had gone fine for a couple of years. He'd earned a reputation for being extremely intuitive and piecing clues together in ways that the inspectors hadn't thought of before. He refused to elaborate on his methodology, choosing only to smile and remain silent when asked the inevitable "How did you know to do that?" or something similar. He was merely looting the minds of suspects and using what he learned to guide investigators in the necessary directions. He still had no idea how it happened, but his secret eventually came out and, when asked point blank about it, he refused to lie. The captain of the precinct had banished him from the premises under threat of arrest if he ever came back. Despite the monumental increase in solving crimes for the precinct, the captain despised being the laughingstock among his peers even more. Nick had thrown in the towel on England and moved to the United States, the freedom to be who he was having enticed him since he was a child.

How he had ended up in Seattle, he still didn't know, but Seattle is where he had planted roots in the ground. He still remembered his first encounter with Rose Red. He had only been in the city for six weeks. He had been driving home very late one evening, when his old, beat-up Corolla had stalled in the middle of the road. Luckily it had been late enough that there was no other traffic for him to hit and he had coaxed the dying vehicle to the side, oblivious to the overgrown vines and decaying grounds bordering the road. Popping the hood, he had started fiddling around underneath, truthfully having no idea what he was doing, but nothing was smoking and nothing was insanely hot to the touch, so he had decided to just let it sit for a few minutes before attempting to start it.

That's when he heard the whispers.

Turning cautiously around, he'd been drawn to the fence. The building, barely visible in the light of the half moon, was monstrous in construction. It was so lifeless and chilling to behold, yet oddly entrancing. It appeared as though from another world. It was hard to believe such a place could exist only a stone's throw away from the twenty-first century, but here it stood, clinging so crudely to another century like the vines clinging to its rotting façade.

The whispers were so faint, he had to strain his hearing, but there was no mistaking it was his name that was being spoken. It was so mesmerizing and hypnotic; he'd almost gone in search of the gate, so as to get a closer look. Drawing ever nearer, his hands had reached out to grip the iron bars. They were surprisingly warm to the touch, but the haunted feeling he'd gotten from them was enough to make him stumble backwards, almost tripping over the front of his car. Slamming the hood shut, he'd quickly climbed back into the car, sparing one frightened glance at the terrible building before speeding the now working vehicle off into the night.

Nick shivered involuntarily at the vivid memory of his first acquaintance with the mansion. It was pointless to even try and pass it off as an effect of the weather, simply because he knew better. He pulled his jacket tighter around him. The only reason he hadn't backed out yet was because he knew what Joyce had planned for the group, and he couldn't leave them to face it alone. Joyce was ingenious in how she had picked her group. Everyone that was going was in need of money. Even had he told them of his suspicions, he knew the lure of cash was too great for them to pass up.

Picking up the ashtray, he carried it into his apartment, emptying it into the trash can. As the ashes fell into the plastic lining, he vaguely wondered if he'd be as strapped for cash as he was now if he didn't have his nicotine addiction. Shrugging faintly, he made a mental note to pick up a couple of packs on the way to the university, before he dropped into his bed. Tomorrow was going to be a very long day, followed by a very long night. He only hoped he'd survive it all.

**::~*~::**

**A/N: 8 characters down and 1 more to go-but, what's this? Two more chapters to post? Hmmm...**


	9. Rachel Wheaton

**A/N: My apologies that I didn't get this chapter up last Friday like I was supposed to. I've got a lot on my plate right now. Enjoy!**

**::~*~::**

Rachel shivered as she stared up at the house—mansion—whatever it was. She had grown up, rather sheltered, on the other side of Seattle and had only heard the most basic of rumors about Rose Red prior to her first encounter with Joyce. Now she was staring up at the massive structure that she was going to be entering on the morrow and wondering if she'd made the right choice.

For reasons completely beyond her understanding, her father had finally relented the day before and told Rachel to do what she wanted with Annie. He had made it perfectly clear that he was still as opposed as ever, but he was done arguing with Rachel. He also let it be known that if anything happened to Annie, or where Annie was responsible for any kind of damage, the blame and responsibility would be resting solely upon Rachel's conscience and shoulders. Rachel had accepted the charge with solemn gravity, but that wasn't why she hadn't called Joyce yet.

Now that she had her father's reluctant permission, she wanted to give the excursion her full attention. Now _she_ was the only thing standing between Annie and Rose Red. She wanted to be absolutely certain that this is what they should do. In hindsight, she realized she should have brought Annie with her. Even if they couldn't pass the gate yet, Annie's reaction just to being in the presence of the house would have counted for a lot in what Rachel ultimately decided. Unfortunately, Rachel had made the decision on a whim and, once her shift had ended, she had taken the bus to within a block of Rose Red.

Mindful of the glances she would get from passersby if she approached the building too closely, she was content to stay safely on the other side of the street and watch it. What she was watching for, she didn't know. Between her day shifts at her job and her night shifts at the local community college, Rachel had barely found any time to do any kind of research on Rose Red beyond what she already knew. Rachel had tried to make it to the orientation that Joyce had mentioned the previous Monday, but she had arrived too late. The building had been locked and dark with no one in sight.

She had wanted to be as educated as she could on the house and its background before agreeing to Joyce's request, but, with only hours to go, it looked like most of her education was going to come firsthand when they entered the house tomorrow…_if_ Rachel decided to go.

She rubbed her hands vigorously over her arms. The chill from the late spring storms seeped into her bones, but she suspected it was more than that. Unlike her sister, Rachel had no special psychic or telekinetic powers. That didn't mean she couldn't feel, though. Intuition and gut instinct still counted for a lot, in her opinion, and her gut instinct was telling her to stay far away from the house._ But, what about Annie? s_he thought. Maybe this house could help her understand Annie better. Rachel was just as conflicted as she was when she arrived here. She was really no closer to making up her mind.

After several more minutes of quiet reflection she realized that her persistent stay on the sidewalk would quickly be considered loitering, and she gave the house one finally backward glance before she turned away and headed back to the bus stop. Her mind was made up. She would call Joyce as soon as she returned home.


	10. Epilogue

**A/N: The epilogue! Short, but I liked it. It was originally supposed to be a standalone one-shot, but it wasn't long enough so I tacked if on the end here. The sequel to this story will start being posted next Friday. The title is "One Door Closes" and describes that first night in Rose Red in much the same fashion as this series of one-shots was written.**

**::~E~::**

They stood at the window in one of the highest towers of the house, surveying the front courtyard below them. The house had fallen deeply into disarray and the beauty Ellen Rimbauer had once envisioned for it had long been overgrown by vines and weeds, dust and cobwebs. The reputation of Rose Red had spread, and, despite it being quiet for many years, visitors were expected once again. They both shared a smile as though the thought had come to them simultaneously.

They looked out upon the grounds again. It was really too bad that the current caretaker had taken such precautions when he had come to the house a few days prior to deliver some equipment. He had taken the rumors of Rose Red very seriously. The members of his group had carried everything inside as a group, stayed together as a group, and quickly returned outside as a group. Not one person had gone astray. It didn't matter, though. The eagerly anticipated guests were only hours away. They wouldn't be as careful. They wouldn't be as wary. And, yet, they were the most educated about the house than anyone else. They should know better.

The woman on the left felt the presence of her companion fade away. She looked to her side and saw only empty air beside her. Yes, Sukeena had the right idea of it. They must rest now, for tomorrow they would need their strength. It wasn't every day the last of her bloodline came home.


End file.
